


Bruised, Not Broken

by desitonystark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, F/M, Female Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27709622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desitonystark/pseuds/desitonystark
Summary: James has been out of the game for years. All he's looking to do is retire quietly, and preferably never run into anyone from his old life again. But when an old friend calls with a favour; James finds himself entrusted with protecting the damaged wife of one of the most powerful men in the country - and gets much more than he bargained for.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 36
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

James is just about to fall asleep, can feel his eyelids getting heavier and his body slowing down, when his phone starts ringing on his chest, startling him back to wakefulness. He fumbles for it a couple of times, swiping his thumb over the half-shattered screen and bringing it to his ear.

“Barnes,” he grunts through the phone, and the voice he hears trinkle through the static makes him sit upright. He wasn’t ever accepting to hear from _him_ again.

“James,” the man on the other end of the line says, “I need you to do something for me, and I need you to not ask any questions.”

“I wasn’t aware we were on speaking terms,” James replies carefully, trying to keep the curiosity out of his voice, “This must be a pretty big favour.”

“This one isn’t for me,” the man says shortly, “There’s a truck parked in the alley on the corner of 5th and Main. There’s precious cargo inside. I need you to get to the truck and drive it the hell out of town. Don’t look back, and don’t stop for anything.”

“You expect me to uproot my life, and I’m not even allowed to ask what’s going on?” James demands, even though he already knows he’s going to say yes. _He_ wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important, if there wasn’t anybody else who could do this except for James.

“You trusted me once,” the man says, after a pregnant silence, “There was a time when I would tell you to jump, and you would say _‘how high?’._ Someone’s life is at stake, so can I count on you or not?”

James surveys his apartment. He doesn’t have a lot of clothes, they could probably all be stuffed in a large duffel bag if he tries hard enough. His plates are all plastic, and there’s some leftover take out in the fridge.

Rent’s due in a couple of days, but somehow, James doesn’t think his landlord will be all that upset if he sees an empty apartment. Or that surprised.

“I can be there in 30 minutes,” James concedes, “I just need to get some stuff together.”

“Bring your guns,” the man says, “and don’t be late.” He ends the call before James can come up with something smart to say in response. He manfully resists the urge to throw his phone against the wall, if only because there are people who still need to be able to contact him; and pushes himself to his feet.

The duffel bag is stuffed under his bed, right next to where the guns are taped, and it’s quick work to get them both out. James takes a couple of seconds to check the magazine in the handgun before stuffing it in the crook of the back of his jeans; and then feels around for the extra clips he knows he has stashed somewhere.

His clothes are strewn all over the one-bedroom apartment, and while James would love to just stuff them into the duffel bag and call it a day - he takes the time to fold each other, smoothing out the wrinkles as best he can. He’s not particularly vain, not anymore anyway - but his Ma drilled into him the need to keep decent clothes, and the Army hammered it home.

Before he steps out of the apartment, he takes a second to look at his reflection in the mirror, rubbing an absent hand over the beard that’s grown over the past couple of months. He debates taking the time to shave but decides against it. He’s going to an alley; appearances don’t matter.

He grabs his toothbrush and places it on top of his clothes, before zipping up the duffel bag and swinging it over his shoulders. He taps on his phone screen to check the time, and he’s got about 15 minutes before he’ll be late. If he walks quickly, he can be there in 10.

James is at the threshold when he takes one last look at his apartment. It’s easily one of the most decrepit places he’s ever lived, even counting his days in the barracks in Afghanistan; but it’s been home for the past four months and he’s oddly loath to leave it.

With a sigh, he pulls the door and jimmies the key into the lock; clicking it shut. He slips the key into the fake plant pot poised outside that Natasha gave him as a housewarming gift, because she thought it would make the apartment homely; and then swings over the railings, bracing himself with his hands when he hits the ground.

His apartment was only two floors from the ground floor, and it’s late enough that there’s nobody around to watch his stunts. Besides, he’s on a clock.

He sees the truck the minute he turns into the alley, but there doesn’t appear to be anybody waiting for him next to it. On instinct, James’ hand rests on his gun, while the other fishes out his phone to make sure he isn’t late.

It’s dark, almost impossibly so, but James’ eyes are used to darker, and they adjust quickly. A quick sweep of the alley confirms his suspicions - that he’s the only one here, and he resists swearing out loud, if only because it will draw unnecessary attention to himself.

Letting go of his gun, he makes his way over to the truck, peering at the back to see if he can make out what the precious cargo is. There’s a bundled-up duvet stuffed into the back of the truck, placed in a way that you wouldn’t even notice it was there unless you were looking for it.

James braces his hands onto the edge of the truck and hauls himself up so that he can get a closer look, walking softly so as to not jostle the cargo. He crouches down when he’s close enough; and with the steady fingers, pulls at the duvet to reveal whatever’s inside.

There’s a girl, no, a _woman,_ who can’t be older than 20, covered in bruises and contorted in an impossible position. James is going to kill _him_ the next time they run into each other; their past relationship be damned. Hesitantly, James brings his fingers to her neck, relaxing slightly when he feels a weak pulse. He checks her eyes next, finger catching on the underside and pulling it down to reveal glazed pupils; almost vacant.

There’s a distinct possibility that if James looks closer at her neck; he’s going to find a tiny puncture wound that resembles a needle. He’s _definitely_ going to kill him the next time he sees him. James might even hunt him down just for the pleasure of the kill.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and redials the last incoming number, shoving it between his shoulder and crooking his neck - leaving his hands free to peel back more of the duvet while he assesses the woman’s injuries.

 _He_ picks up after two rings.

“I don’t do this stuff anymore,” James barks, not even giving him a chance to get a word in edgewise, “I don’t take people out. What the fuck have you gotten me into? She looks like she was the punching bag for an overly enthusiastic MMA fighter. You’re going to tell me what’s going on right now, or I promise you, I will hunt you down.”

“So, you opened the cargo,” the man says in a calm tone, so calm that it infuriates James.

“Yeah, I fucking opened the _cargo,_ and I’m telling you right now - I’m not killing this woman. I don’t care who she is, or what she’s done, I’m done with that life. You’ve got some nerve giving me this kind of job.”

“James,” his voice doesn’t waver in the slightest, “James you’re not there to kill her. You’re there to save her.”

James pauses at that, hands stilling from where they were inspecting the cuts around her thighs, “What do you mean, save her?”

“Look I can’t tell you much, because it’s classified; but we’ve had her and her husband on surveillance for months. You have to believe me when I say if I knew what he was doing to her, that he was beating her; that I would’ve put an end to the op. I only found out two weeks ago though, because she’s good at hiding it. Almost too good.”

“So why is she drugged and in the back of a truck instead of at the police station giving her statement?”

The man sighs, the only indication that he is bothered by this, “I was told that the op was too deep, and she was collateral damage. If he killed her, I was allowed to call the police - but anything short of that, I was just supposed to look the other way; and file it for when he was officially charged. They said that if they started him now, that the rest of the case would fall apart, and it wasn’t worth the risk. Not when we were so close.”

“So, you smuggled her out instead,” James surmised.

“If it makes you feel any better, she asked to be drugged. I explained who you are to her as best I could, but she said that she was in a shit-load of pain, and it was more than likely that she would lash out at you on instinct alone; so, drugging her was the best option.”

“Why didn’t she go to the police?” James asks, even though he already knows the answer, “Why do it like this?”

“She said that he had all the local police in his pocket, and if she went - they’d probably just send her back home with a couple of new bruises.’

_‘I need her alive,’_ he’d said, ‘ _I need her alive, and well enough to testify when we finally bring down the hammer on her piece of shit husband. Whatever you need to do to keep her alive James, do it.’_

He’s been driving for close to six hours now. New York is long gone, and there’s a fair chance that James has crossed state lines. New Jersey was a distinct possibility for a half mile, because nobody worth their salt from New York considers New Jersey a place; but James has more connections in Massachusetts; more people to count on if things go south.

On his lap, the woman stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake. Her head is pillowed on one of his thighs; the duvet covering her up till her shoulders, and she sniffles and moves closer to him; as if chasing his body warmth. Almost on instinct, James reaches out and soothes a hand through her hair, running his fingers against her scalp ever so gently.

She leans into the movement, imperceptibly, and after a couple of minutes of movement; stills again, going limp. Whatever sedatives she’s on must be strong, but it’s clear that if they don’t stop soon; she’s going to wake up and that’s not good for her, or for him.

They’re about an hour out from a motel that James trusts; with an owner who looks the other way for the right kind of money, but he’s worried that she won’t make it that long. When he was moving her from the back of the van, he jostled the duvet, and he knows that she’s got nothing more than a threadbare shirt and her undergarments on. Whatever her situation was, clearly it was bad enough that trousers were too much of a waste; and sedated or not - her body is feeling the effects of the frigid winter air.

“Fuck,” James murmers into the open air, and pulls up on the side of the road. As gentle as possible, he cups his hands under the woman’s arms and brings up to a sitting position; her back resting against his chest. He shifts slightly in the tight spot, shrugging off his jacket and slipping it onto her shoulders.

It isn’t easy tucking her hands into the arms of the jacket without jostling her wounds, but James manages; even though every new bruise makes him want to break something in frustration. His earlier assessment that she was a punching bag isn’t inaccurate, and just from touching her hands, James can estimate multiple fractures around her wrist all the way up to her elbow.

She’s startling beautiful; long brown hair that flows past her shoulders and curls ever so slightly at the end, eyelashes that frame her cheeks and chapped lips with slight teeth indentations; like she bites them a lot. James can’t imagine even raising his voice at her; let alone marking her up the way her husband has - and not for the first time, he curses the fact that he can’t take her to a hospital, or to the proper authorities; who’ll do right by her.

But he can’t, because his job isn’t to get her to the authorities, it’s to keep her alive - and James is going to do it even if it kills him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think 👀


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wakes up, and James learns her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have a beta, so all mistakes are mine

She wakes up a couple hours after they’ve checked into the motel.

It’d been interesting checking in: James pillowing her head in the crook of his neck and carrying her out of the truck bridal style to the motel reception; and trying his best to convince the pimple-faced teenager who’d drawn the unlikely straw for the night shift that she was his girlfriend and James simply didn’t want to wake her. His normal guy wasn't behind the register, and it made the whole thing more complicated than it needed to be.

There was a minute when James wondered if it was easier to just shoot the kid and be done with it, but then the keys were slid across the desk and he turned back to his phone, apparently no longer interested in what James was doing with an unconscious woman in his hands.

The room they’ve been given is a couple floors above the reception, and ordinarily James would prefer a room on the ground floor, because they were easier to both enter and escape from; but this particular room overlooks the parking lot and the entrance to the motel, so he’s still got a couple of good vantage points if he needs them.

He’s left the woman on the bed, rearranging her and draping the thread-bare blanket over her body before slowly easing her out of his jacket. He doesn’t like leaving her alone, especially when she’s not even in a state to look after herself should she need to - but James needs to go back to the truck and grab his stuff.

He also needs to make a trip to the nearest shops, because he hasn’t packed for more than a day’s trip. He’s okay with wearing the same clothes over and over, but he needs to grab a couple pairs of briefs and boxers if he’s going to get through this trip. He leaves one of his guns on the bedside table; loaded but with the safety on and locks the door on his way out, to make sure that nobody can get in without his say so.

He knows that she’s awake when he gets back, because he unlocks the door to see her sitting up, blankets pooled loosely around her waist, and the t-shirt she’s got on doing nothing to hide the way that she’s shivering.

Old instincts die hard though, because the first thing that James notices isn’t that she’s awake, or the stiff way she’s holding herself, likely from all her injuries.

The first thing James notices is the gun that she’s holding; pointed directly at him.

The key jingles lightly where it’s nestled in the lock as James slowly puts the bags he’s holding down on the floor, and then straightens himself just as slowly. He’s been around victims before, and Rule Number 1 is always the same: _No sudden movements._

He lifts his hands up near his shoulders, palms facing her, in a facsimile of surrender, and once he’s sure that she’s recognised the move for what it is, asks in a low voice, “You want to put that gun down, doll? You could hurt someone with it.”

Her grip on the gun loosens imperceptibly, but she doesn’t lower it.

“That’s the plan,” she shoots back, and _oh,_ she’s got a pretty voice, “Unless you can give me some sort of reason why I shouldn’t.”

James shrugs, “You’re in a strange place, barely clothed, and I’m a strange man who just let myself into this room. You’ve got no reason not to shoot me doll.”

Her eyes narrow at that, “You’re not helping yourself here.”

“Can I step in? I don’t want to get the cold air in. You’re shivering enough that I’m worried you’re going to collapse if it gets any colder here.”

She gestures with the gun, and James takes a couple of steps forward, nudging his bags with his feet and fishing the key out of the lock before kicking the door shut with his heel.

“I’m not trying to help myself here,” he continues, “I’m trying to help _you._ You got no reason to trust me. From the looks of it, you got no reason to trust anybody for a real long time. I can tell you that you can trust me, but me and you both know that my words mean nothing to you. My actions on the other hand, well I’m hoping those might convince you.”

“You want to take that gun and run? I’m gonna let you do that. Hell, I’ll give you the keys to my truck too, make things easier on you. But I’ve got a job; and that’s keeping you alive until your piece of shit husband’s arrested. I’m gonna do that job with or without your trust, because I don’t need your trust to keep you alive.”

“So no,” he runs his hands through his hair, “I’m not trying to help myself here. I’m trying to help you. And helping you means telling you the truth, no matter what.”

For a couple of minutes, she’s silent, staring at him down the barrel of the gun.

If he wanted to, James could rip it out of her hand and have her on her back in seconds, completely defenceless. He could pull out the gun he’s got resting in the small of his back and fire a warning shot, not close enough to injure anything but something that’ll make her flinch. Given the way her hands are shaking, it’s entirely likely that James could just duck and she’d miss him entirely.

Pointing the gun at him isn’t about her having the upper hand. She doesn’t have the upper hand, not with his training, his years in combat, his expertise. From the moment James stepped into the motel room, he’s had the upper hand.

No, pointing the gun at him is about her _thinking_ she has the upper hand; about her taking back control of her life, having some semblance of independence and security. James left the gun on the bedside table for that very reason.

Granted, he didn’t expect her to wake up in the time that he was gone, nor did he expect that he’d been on the business end of the gun, but the end result is the same: she’s in a position where she thinks she can defend herself, where she feels like she’s the powerful one for once.

James is willing to risk getting shot for that.

Eventually, she sets down the gun, resting it on her lap but not letting her grip on it fully lax. Almost as if she’s coming down from an adrenaline high, she realises how cold she is, and pulls the blanket to cover her chest and shoulders, shifting her hips down the bed to make herself more comfortable.

James waits for a beat to see if she’s going to say anything, before picking up his bags and making his way across the room. He sets his duffel bag on the desk, testing it lightly to make sure it’ll hold the weight of his bag when it creaks, and then sets down his shopping on the floor right next to it.

He squats down to his knees, and fishes out the brown paper bag, tossing it onto the bed. She eyes it warily, before a hand sticks out of the blanket to grab it.

“It’s a cheese-burger and fries,” he offers, and her eyes widen slightly, “It’s a bit cold now, but I figured you’d be hungry whenever you woke up.”

“You’re his friend,aren’t you?” she says between bites of fries, stuffing her mouth with them like she’s never seen them before. Given her stick figure, James would put money on the fact that it has in fact been ages since she’s indulged in anything other than a salad, “The one he told me about. You’re that retired assassin.”

James frowns, “Friend might be stretching it. But yeah, I’m the one he told you about. James.”

He settles on the edge of the bed, for no other reason than there’s nowhere else to sit but the bed, and when he sticks his hand out; she covers it with her own.

“Toni,” she swallows around a couple of fries, “I don’t know what he told me about you, but my name’s Toni.”

“He didn’t tell me anything about you doll,” James huffs, “Didn’t even tell me you were a person. I just got a call in the dead of the night telling me that I had cargo to move. ‘Bout lost my shit when I found out my cargo was you, thought I was meant to kill you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Toni asks curiously, and James has to consciously stop himself from gripping the bed sheets hard enough to tear because _nobody_ should sound so cavalier about their own death.

“I don’t do that stuff anymore. I only got into it because there’s not much jobs for a banged up vet and I needed something to pay the bills, but the minute I earned enough to keep me comfortable? I got out of that life. Didn’t like killing people when I was in the Army, and I didn’t like killing people when I was out of it.”

Toni’s moved onto the cheeseburger, and she hums around it, “He said you were like that.”

“Like what?”

“Honourable,” she licks at her lips to catch the crumbs, “He said you were honourable.”

At that, James smiles, “I’m a lot of things doll, honourable ain’t one of them.”

“You just helped a girl you don’t even know escape halfway across the country. You put a gun on my bedside table, because you wanted me to be able to defend myself, and you didn’t even flinch when I turned it on you.” She waves her half eaten cheeseburger, “You went out and got me food, on the off-chance that I might be hungry.”

“Dishonorable men don’t do that. Trust me, I would know.”

James swallows thickly, around the lump that’s built up in his throat. It’s been a long time since someone called him honourable, had a kind word to say about him - and then there’s Toni.

“I got you some clothes,” he says in lieu of an actual response, “I don’t know what your size is, so if something doesn’t fit right, just let me know and I’ll go get something new. But I figured you’d want to change into something more than..” he trails off, gesturing at her to convey what he means.

“We're not going to be here for long, no more than a night, but the shower’s yours if you want to use it. I’ll shower in the morning before we head out.”

Toni nods, clearly nonplussed by the sudden topic change, but she slips out of bed and walks over to where James is pointing at a plastic bag of clothes, rummaging through them till she pulls out a pair of trousers and a long sleeved t-shirt.

“I couldn’t find any good jacket, but there’s a thrift store a couple miles from here that I figured we could stop at tomorrow. Until then, you’re welcome to use mine.”

“I’m just gonna - “ Toni gestures behind her at the bathroom, and James averts his eyes as she walks past him to go in. Now that she’s conscious, he’s suddenly much more aware of her state of undress; and he’s not about to ruin all the progress he’s just made for her.

He keeps his eyes trained on the floor until he hears the water turn on; then pulls out his phone to start looking up the quickest way to get to Natasha’s place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have a specific posting schedule set up for this, so i apologise for the sporadic updates but they will be happening as and when i finish new chapters. i don't plan on this being extremely long though, so hopefully you won't be waiting forever for a conclusion!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They continue travelling, and we learn a little more about James's backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's been a while since the last update, sorry!!

Travelling with Toni now she’s awake is achingly different and disturbingly similar at the same time. The last of the sedative wore off while they were still at the motel, but she still insists on sleeping for most of the journey; even going as far as pouting when she finds out that James isn’t carrying an endless supply of the sedative on his person and refuses to knock her out with his fists.

“It’s not like I don’t know what it’s like,” she’d pointed out, and James glared at her until she shifted her eyes to the ground.

“I’m not hitting you Toni,” he replied firmly, “Not now, not ever. I’m not that kind of man.”

“I know that,” she said mulishly, “This is just so that I can sleep. I used to take sleeping pills because it doesn’t come to me easily.”

Despite her many threats that she was a menace to drive with, Toni falls asleep within the first hour of them hitting the road. James chalks it up to the fact that her body has been in a constant state of panic for god knows how long, and is finally learning how to relax.

That being said, the truck isn’t designed for more than one person, so Toni ends up sprawled across his lap in a very similar way, and James learns that when she’s not under the effect of a drug designed to keep her unconscious, Toni _moves in her sleep._

James’ libido, which has been asleep for the better part of the last five years, has decided to awaken from it’s comatose state ever since he saw Toni alert and pointing a gun at him, and every single little movement is lighting James up in the worst way. He hasn’t been this desperate to get himself off since he was fifteen and discovering his dick for the first time, and James has half a mind to shrug Toni off his lap and tie her up if it’ll get her to stop _moving._

He won’t actually do it of course, because he knows what a big deal it is for Toni to have gone through what her husband put her through and still feel comfortable to close her eyes and rest her head on the lap of a man who looks like James, and James would never do anything to jeopardise that trust, but the thought pops into his head on occasion - when she does something like turn and nuzzle against his thighs; trying to make herself comfortable and accidentally brushing against his half hard cock.

Fortunately, Natasha’s place is only a couple hours away from the motel and when they’re a few minutes out, James manages to gently jostle her awake without alerting her to how tight his trousers have gotten all in one smooth motion.

Toni sits up abruptly, going from sleep to wakefulness in a matter of seconds, but she smacks her lips together, like it’s taking her brain time to catch up with the rest of her body. Her hands move to smoothen out her hair before falling to her eyes, rubbing them gingerly, and she squints at James with a dazed expression.

“Are we here?” she asks, voice raspy with sleep, and James focuses on the road, resolutely not looking at how her tee has rucked up in her sleep, exposing her too-thin waist, “We’re a couple minutes out. Figured you’d want some time to make yourself presentable before you have to meet polite company.”

Toni flushes, and her hands instantly fly to pull down her tee, before running through her hair more purposefully, but she still manages to keep an even tone when she asks, “So Natasha is polite company? Who is she to you? Your girlfriend? Because I have to be honest, showing up at your girlfriend’s place with another woman isn’t going to leave the best impression, no matter how open-minded she says she is.”

James snorts, “Natasha isn’t my girlfriend. She’s someone from a life I used to lead, and I trust her with a lot of things, but my dick isn’t one of them. She’s not polite company either, but I figured a high society type like you would care about stuff like how you look.”

“I stopped caring about how I looked when I was 17 and I realised that men cared more about my boobs than what was over them,” Toni says with a huff, and James notes silently that she doesn’t deny she’s high society, “and by former life you mean?” she gesticulates a gun with her hands; eyes going wide when he nods in confirmation.

“Yeah doll, she’s an assassin, just like I used to be,” he says in an amused tone, “but don’t let her fool you; she’s more bark than bite. She looks a lot scarier than she actually is, which is par for the course in this line of work.”

“But she still kills people for a living,” Toni points out, “so she’s got some bite.”

“ ‘Course she does, why do you think I don’t let her near my dick? She’d leave little bite marks all over it.”

Toni lets out a surprised laugh, and James fights the urge to preen, because that was the point of the comment. In reality, he’s fallen into bed with Natasha more times than he’d like to count, and they were working towards _something_ , before James cut his losses and ran the other way completely. It’s a gamble, taking Toni to see Natasha knowing that she might turn them away just to spite him, but James has to believe that she won’t - if only for Toni’s sake.

Toni cranes her neck, as if Natasha’s place will magically appear on the otherwise empty road if she stares hard enough, “So how far out are we?”

“It’s just down the road,” James promises, and sure enough, after a couple of minutes, a completely unassuming house creeps into view, at the end of a completely unassuming road.

“Somehow I wasn’t expecting something,” Toni gestures vaguely with her hands, “ _more._ This is so normal.”

James honks once as he turns into the driveway, and then twice more in rapid succession; letting Natasha know he’s here. “That’s the point doll,” he says as he’s changing the gear into _park_ , “Assassins are supposed to blend in.”

Toni wrinkles her nose like she wants to say something to counter that but can’t think of what, and James is saved from further conversation by Natasha opening the door, hands on her hips as she gives him a speculative look. James gestures for Toni to wait in the car, and jogs up to the door, stopping a couple steps in front of Natasha. 

“Bucky,” Natasha says evenly, “Fancy seeing you here. Felt like making your mortgage payment in person this year? You didn’t have to.”

“You know that’s a direct debit,” James says back with a bite in his tone, internally cursing when Natasha’s eyes flash, “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?”

He moves to the side so that Natasha can look over at him at Toni, who wiggles her fingers awkwardly when she realises they’re both looking at him, “I’m here about her. Your new boyfriend’s got a case, and she’s the wife.”

Natasha looks at Toni in the same way she looked at James, speculative and betraying nothing. After a couple of seconds, she shifts back and gestures to the inside of the house, “You might as well bring her in. Don’t want people talking.”

James deigns to bring up the fact that there’s nobody else here for miles, “She doesn’t know about us Natasha. She doesn’t know what this place represents, what _you_ represent. Can I trust you to keep it that way and not say anything?”

Natasha gives him a saccharine smile, “What’s there to say?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this, might end up being longer than originally anticipated


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Bucky talk a bit about their past

If Toni notices the weird tension between Natasha and James, she doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to look around the house with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, like she’s worried that Natasha might accuse her of being noisy and throw her out. James wants to reassure that they aren’t going to be thrown out, but he holds off until he’s actually sure of that.

“You have a lovely home,” Toni says earnestly, “It’s beautiful. You must’ve spent a lot of time putting it together.”

“I did,” Natasha says in an amused tone, and it doesn’t escape James that Natasha seems taken by Toni. Despite the fact that the two women can’t be a couple of years apart, Natasha’s looking at Toni the way James used to look at Becca; his younger sister. The thought should terrify him, but instead it reassures him. No matter what her issues with James might be, at least Natasha won’t actively try and hurt Toni in the aftermath.

“They’re trinkets from my travels,” Natasha explains, gesturing at the wall of oddities that Toni has been attempting to surreptitiously look at, “Things that I picked up because they made otherwise unpleasant memories pleasant.

“So you travel a lot for work?” Tony aims for a nonchalant tone, and James can’t help the snort he lets out, “she knows you know doll. You don’t have to be cute about it.”

Toni’s lips part in a silent _oh,_ and she turns to Natasha with an apologetic grimace. “I didn’t mean to -” she starts, “I didn’t know that you knew that I knew. I was just trying to be polite. It really is a lovely home. Do you live here on your own?” At Natasha’s raised eyebrows, Toni rushes to explain, “I just meant that it was a big house, so I thought maybe you lived with someone.”

“My boyfriend drops by occasionally, but it’s just me for the most part, ” Natasha remarks, “It doesn’t seem that big when you get used to it. Besides, I didn’t plan on living here on my own, but by the time he decided he didn’t want to move in with me; we’d already put down the deposit and I wasn’t about to lose the house and him too.”

Toni’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, before she finally settles on asking where the bathroom is in a meek tone. Natasha gestures down the hall, and James waits until she’s out of earshot to turn towards Natasha with a glare.

“I thought I told you not to say anything,” he hisses, and Natasha shrugs, unrepentant, “I’m not about to lie to her. You know that lying’s the last thing she needs right now. Which begs the question of why you haven’t told her the truth in the first place.”

James deflates, “I didn’t lie. She asked me if you were my girlfriend, and I told her the truth, that you weren’t. She was terrified of coming here Nat, thought you were going to throw her out on her ass because she’d be a threat to our relationship. I needed somewhere for us to lie low until her piece of shit husband is in handcuffs, and this seemed like the best place; but I wasn’t going to get her here while she thought she was unwelcome.”

Natasha purses her lips, “You can stay here as long as you like, I couldn’t kick you out even if I wanted to - your name’s on the papers too. But her husband’s arrest can take anywhere from a couple of weeks to a couple of months, and the longer you’re here, the quicker she’s going to realise that we don’t act like _old friends._ I don’t know what you’ve told her Bucky, but she’s going to figure it out eventually. What happens then?”

James doesn’t reply, because he doesn’t have an answer. Rationally, he knows that Natasha’s right, the worst thing to do to someone in Toni’s situation is to lie to them. He knows that the longer he goes without telling Toni the truth about who Natasha is to him, the bigger the chance that Toni’s going to see it as a betrayal; not to mention that it’ll ruin any relationship that Toni might have with Natasha.

He wasn’t lying when he said that this house was the best place to lay low, not just because of its location, but also because of _Natasha._ Toni’s going to need more than just James if she’s going to get through this, because, despite his veritable skill set, James is just one man; and Natasha is the best he’s ever worked with.

Not to mention, James is a _man._ He knows that it’s some stroke of luck that Toni trusts him, but at the end of the day, he represents everything she’s running from. And when she realises, because it's inevitable that she does, she’s going to need someone to run to. For all their history, James would like it if that someone was Natasha.

“Let her get settled here first. I’m not saying this place is a dump, but Toni’s high society, and this is a far cry from her old life. She’s away from everything that’s familiar, and it’s going to be a huge adjustment. I’ll tell her once she’s more settled. She doesn’t need to be dealing with us on top of everything else,” James says finally, “she deserves the chance to sort out her own life first.”

“Okay,” Natasha concedes, and she must see something in his eyes that tells her not to push it, “It’s your choice, and I’ll respect what you decide to do.”

“Thank you,” James says, and it comes out harsher than he means it to, “And I’m sorry.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, and James gestures vaguely at himself, “For running, for not answering your calls for two years, for showing up like this. You deserved better, no, you _deserve_ better, and I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you.”

“I did,” Natasha agrees, because she’s never been in the habit of mincing her words to spare his feelings, “but I always knew you were going to run. It’s not your fault that I thought I might be enough to give you a reason to stay.”

James opens his mouth to reply, but Toni steps back into the room, and he closes his mouth. He knows that he owes Natasha an explanation, because it wasn’t _her,_ it was everything, but the moment has passed. Even if James knew what else to say, he can’t anymore, not now that Toni can hear them.

“I know we’re already imposing, but I don’t suppose you have anything to eat?” Toni rubs her stomach gingerly, “The last thing I had was a cheeseburger and that was sometime yesterday, and my stomach decided to make itself known while I was in the bathroom.”

“Did you know that Bucky makes a stunning pasta carbonara?” Natasha asks with a smile, “and it just so happens that I have all the ingredients.”

“How convenient,” James says dryly, “It’s almost like you knew we were coming.”

“Something like that,” Natasha says, ‘Kitchen’s down the hall and to the right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this chapter was mainly buckynat, but this is still a buckytony fic i promise!!

**Author's Note:**

> [i'm also on tumblr](https://ad1thi.tumblr.com)   
> 


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